Oh, let's go look at the big shiny, noisy airplane of the megalomaniac, way-past-their-prime Rock Stars land at McCarran.

Check the bands Facebook page often, call the radio station and people you know to try to get the inside scoop on what time the plane will be landing, because you just have to be that much cooler than everybody else, right?

Make sure to take lots of pictures and videos and Instagram and Facebook the shit out of them all, to let us know what we missed out on and how much awesomer your life is than ours.

And when you go to the overpriced concert you paid waaaaaayy too much for, and splurge a couple hundred bucks on some overpriced, watered down beer, which you have to drink to make the band sound good like they used to be, make sure you grab a couple of those overpriced tee shirts from the concession stand on your way out. Is the irony of he sports jerseys being sold by a Metal band lost on everyone but me? Oh well, doesn't matter, you're going to buy as many of them as you can, because without those, how will people know how cool you are? LOL

I've never understood the fascination with Iron Maiden, especially with the Punx. Do. Not. Get. It. To each their own and all that but still. Early stuff, tough, killer, real. Everything with Bruce Dickinson - ghey.

Bruce Dickinson ruined that band. RUINED THEM. Worst thing that could of happened to them was getting that mystical midget with his lame D & D rip off lyrics to sing for them. When they started singing about demons and eagles and Greek mythology and Norse legends, I tuned out. Nicko McBrain is a lazy, shitty drummer. Cool guy though. ;-)

Meh. I'm over it.

You guys go have fun with the bright lights, loud booms, brightly painted stage sets, watch-the-band-on-a-video-monitor-because-you-can't-see-them-on-the-stage band play their mediocre music from their lame new album. Maybe they'll play that song that you loved in high school. Maybe they won't end their set with Wasted Years. Maybe. As for me? I'm gonna go Downtown to the High Rollers Scooter Rally and listen to pseudo Hipsters spin records from the times when Music was good and from when bands were worth the effort to see live. I'm gonna be that old guy with a bad back standing around smoking cloves and looking bored.

The Pluralses - photo by GE 138.

Pictures of The Pluralses playing at the Dive were posted - click here to check them out. They are an amazing band that deserves a whole lot more attention than they are currently getting, that's for sure.

Pictures of Downstroke playing on that slanted piece of concrete at Juhan Park in Tucson, AZ were posted - click here to check them out. Downstroke are a good, energetic young band and some cool guys as well, so check them out when you get the chance. Their Facebook page is right here.

Gig Review on the spectacle that was the Punks Dead: SLC Punk 2 opening night here in Las Vegas, and you can click here to check that out. I'm still surprised and saddened that the young Punx love the shit out of that movie.

Speaking of all the young Punx, big ups to all those dirty fucks who klashed with the Klan in Anaheim today. That's something you'd never see a Punk Rocker over the age of 30 doing... heh heh

I woke up and realized I wasn't breathing, or, more correctly, I couldn't breathe, because there was some sort of a large mass of something stuck in my throat, my mouth, and it felt like mud, like sludge. That's when I realized I was pulling a Bon Scott, Jimi Hendrix, et al. That's when I realized I was choking on my own vomit.

I struggled for air, for leverage, for a stick to shove down my throat and dislodge this stuff that was in my mouth but found nothing. I tried blowing out as hard as I could but it wasn't working. The vomit was thick like cement, and my heart was racing and pounding like a jack hammer. How long have I not been breathing? I wondered. 1 minute? 2? Fuck if I knew. I was in panic mode big time, and I didn't know what to do. On autopilot I raced for the bathroom, where I started throwing my belly against the sink, like, a Heimlich maneuver on myself of sorts, and after a few tries and hard hits of my head against the faucet I spewed thick, orange vomit everywhere and greedily gasped in as much air as I possibly could, mentally telling myself to slow my heart rate down, to not panic, that the worst was over and that everything was OK. I saw myself in the mirror and was horrified. I was a weird shade of blue-green and covered in spit and vomit. I was drenched in sweat. My lungs were on fire. I shivered from the cold. I cleaned up, both myself and the bathroom, and turned the lights off. I just wanted to lay down.

Erika looked at me when I came out of the bathroom like I was a bloody car wreck victim, asking if I was OK and everything. I couldn't breathe, I told her, and went back to bed. I passed out in seconds, not caring if I lived or died in my sleep at that point. Had to be better than dealing with this shit, I figured.

A few hours later I found myself horizontal in a hospital bed on the Paiute reservation, hooked up to tubes that were feeding the drugs into my body that I need to stay healthy and alive for another week. I threw up into a trashcan every so often, just to make things more interesting and painful. I do this for 4 hours a week every week. This is my life now.

It sucks getting old. Take nothing for granted. Tell everyone you care for that you love them. You just never know if tomorrow is gonna come for you or not. Nothing is for sure, ya know?

Life's too short and I'm running out of time and I think I'm starting to realize that...

What? You had something better to do on Valentine's Day than to get blitzed blind along with the rest of us and watch the legendary Cadillac Tramps stomp and shout and then start and stop and then start again and then rock the fuck out of the place, putting bands half their age to shame with their musicianship and stage presence?? Seriously? ha ha ha Oh man, you blew it. Really. The Cadillac Tramps were on fire last night, fucking killing it on every level imaginable and just laying waste to everyone in the room with their amazing mix of Punk and Blues and Rock 'N' Roll. Watching Gabby struggle a bit while he was up on the stage was painful, to say the least, but with everything he's dealing with medically it's understandable, but still, he really didn't let it stop him from putting on a fantastic fucking show, working the crowd like the pro that he is and making sure everyone in the place was having a fun time. Nothing but Love and Respect for that veterano. And watching Brian Coakley swagger and stomp around the stage, playing that guitar of his like a man possessed, was the shit. I stood right in front of him and was just transfixed the entire set. His playing is so fluid, he does these intricate runs with the greatest of ease, and his tone is one that everyone should copy and try to emulate. I probably took more pictures of him than Gabby! LOL Johnny Two Bags wasn't there, but Steve Soto filled in for him, why, I don't know, and I don't know who was on bass, it wasn't Warren, that I know, and I think that was Jamie on drums, but not sure. As a band they played great but the night was all about Gabby, really. It was a celebration, bitches, and I had so much fun. The turnout was disgraceful, which is typical of Las Vegas but whatever. That gave the gig a sense of intimacy and personalization that wouldn't of happened if the room was jam packed full of drunken lunatics and OC bros playing 'I used to be Punk'. The Cadillac Tramps played pretty much everything I wanted them to play, and they did it all while mixing it up with amazing covers of shitty 80's songs that had to be seen to be believed. Like I said, it was a fun filled night, full of good friends, a few ghosts, and what in the ever loving Hell was Giovanni doing there? hahahahaha

It was my birthday yesterday. Seemed like as good a reason as any to post something on here.

Thanks to everyone for all the well wishes and happy thoughts. It's always a trip to me that anyone gives a fuck about anybody nowadays, and when people take the time to call, text, or even post something up on Facebook, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and moist on the inside. Mmmmmm... moist. Such a vulgar word, isn't it? Yeah, it is.

I got lots of records and CD's for my birthday. It's like my friends know me or something. Oh, and, of course, tacos. Lots and lots of tacos. Not real tacos, per se, but for me, they're real enough, because the option of NOT having tacos is just incomprehensible to me. Huh? What? Who said that. Fuck that. So I put a smile on my face and eat the food I can and make sure everyone around me is having a good time. It's good to know who your real friends are, who your acquaintances are, and who the 'it's casual' people in your Life are. Life's too short to be fucking around with bullshit people, that's for sure.

With everything going on with me medically, I find little time or interest in updating the website. I go to gigs, I play gigs, and believe me, it's a drain on me, it's hard, but the whole aspect of going out to see bands play is just losing it's appeal to me. The bars here in town put on gigs with 6-8 bands on them, and I just don't feel the urge to check out 5 shitty bands just to wait until 2 in the morning to see the band I want to see. The thought of going to someone's dirty hobo house to see a band play with a bunch of young, clueless kids I have no business being around is abhorrent and nauseating to me. I'm not that desperate to be cool like others close to my age who hang in that scene. Going downtown to feed off the pulse of the city holds no appeal to me. The thought bores me to tears. It must be that I'm finally getting old... LOL I think I'm coming to grips with this 'getting old' thing. I think I'm OK with how things are going, in every aspect of my Life. The fact that I made it this long is something I thought I'd never see when I was a dumb kid running the streets of Hollywood what seems like millions of years ago. Different lifetime. Different world. Different person than I am today, and that's OK. I've lived to tell the tale. I'm grateful that I have the friends I do, and I'm happy that I could spend the time with them that I did. I got to talk to them, and hang out with them on my birthday. That was the best gift that I got. I went to sleep very happy that night.